


Bright White Sun

by draculard



Series: Comfortween [1]
Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Embarrassment, F/M, Fainting, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, heat exhaustion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26738965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Thrawn can do many things, but on a planet-side diplomacy mission, Faro quickly learns that one thing he can't do is withstand the heat.
Relationships: Karyn Faro/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Series: Comfortween [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946224
Comments: 5
Kudos: 60
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	Bright White Sun

“You don’t look good, sir,” said Faro, “if you don’t mind me saying.”

Thrawn glanced her way, his posture upright and his expression almost bored. If it weren’t for the fact that his hair looked like someone had dunked his head underwater and his uniform was absolutely soaked with sweat, Faro almost would have bought that he was fine. There was no discomfort or exhaustion in the way he carried himself, and his pace was still strong and unfaltering despite the heat.

But _damn_ , he looked bad.

“I’m fine, Commodore,” he told her, his voice coming out a little thick. She watched sweat run down the bridge of his nose and trickle from his temples to his neck; he didn’t bother wiping it away. 

“We can stop for a moment, sir,” Faro told him, lowering her voice and stepping closer so he could hear. She half-turned, looking at the stormtroopers marching along behind them, and was about to gesture for them to stop when Thrawn shook his head.

“No need. It will only delay our return to the shuttle.”

“And what if _they_ need a break, sir?” Faro countered. He shot her a bland look.

“Their armor has climate control,” he said. “I’m sure they’re more comfortable than we are.”

Faro couldn’t help but notice the use of the word ‘we,’ which seemed to imply that Thrawn was uncomfortable because of his thick Imperial uniform and not because of anything else. That, however, couldn’t possibly be true — because Faro and the other officers in the landing party were _also_ in uniform, and although she was certainly sweating a _little_ , she wasn’t anywhere near as bad as Thrawn. She glanced around at the other officers and saw them in varying states — some sweating slightly under the triple suns, others just a little flushed — but none who looked as though they might collapse.

“Is it the humidity, sir?” she asked, turning back to Thrawn. She remembered how he’d almost staggered coming out of the climate-controlled shuttle hours before, his eyes widening briefly before he adjusted to the heat. “Or is it your species?”

His eyes slipped closed. His step faltered.

“Sir?” asked Faro, alarmed. She reached for his arm to steady him; behind her, the stormtrooper commander held out his arm in a silent command, and the ranks behind him halted at once.

“I’m fine, Commodore,” said Thrawn again — but he hadn’t noticed that the troops had stopped marching, so obviously he wasn’t. “It might be the humidity,” he agreed, not opening his eyes. His voice was thicker than before, almost impossible to understand. “But mostly I think it’s that….” He paused, mumbling something she couldn’t understand. “...my home planet…”

Faro waited, her grip on his arm tightening. She ducked her head to study his face when he didn’t go on. Then, just as she was about to say something and lead him away, Thrawn swayed on his feet and she hurried forward, getting both hands on his shoulders and guiding him to the ground in a barely-controlled fall as he suddenly went limp. The stormtrooper commander was at her side at once, taking some of Thrawn’s weight so he didn’t hit the ground too hard.

“Lieutenant Wolver!” Faro barked, cradling Thrawn’s head in her hand. She watched Wolver hurry forward out of her periphery. “Run ahead to the shuttle,” she told him. “Go get a glider from the cargo bay. The rest of you—” She jerked her head at the stormtrooper commander, lowering her voice a little. “Go on ahead.”

The commander hesitated, looking down at Thrawn before he nodded and stepped away. The stormtroopers marched past, each of them keeping their helmets aimed forward and refusing to gawk at the Grand Admiral as they walked by — something Faro was grateful for, even if Thrawn wasn’t conscious to see it. 

She pressed her free hand to his forehead and hissed between her teeth; she’d been hoping for a high temperature, but instead, his skin was cold and clammy, and he seemed to be shivering slightly beneath his uniform **.** She put two fingers beneath his jaw, finding his pulse point — his heartbeat was rapid and faint. 

“Damn it,” Faro muttered. She shifted position, extricating her hand from beneath Thrawn’s head, and as soon as she did so, his eyelids fluttered and he turned his face away from her by reflex. “ _Sir_ ,” Faro said loudly, grabbing his hand — which was even colder than his forehead. She squeezed his fingers and watched his eyelids flutter again in response. “Come on. Wake up, sir.”

He didn’t respond; if anything, he seemed to fall further into unconsciousness — or maybe it was exhaustion, and he’d slipped from unconsciousness into a deep sleep. Faro bit her lip and glanced up the path, relieved when she spotted Lieutenant Wolver hurrying back with a glider floating along before him. He spotted her at the same time and gave the glider a little push, breaking from a jog into a full sprint until he reached her side.

“Is he okay?” Wolver gasped, a little breathless. Faro lifted a hand to stop the glider before its momentum sent it hovering straight over her head.

“Heat exhaustion,” she said simply. “Help me get him on the glider.”

She grabbed Thrawn beneath the arms while Wolver grabbed his feet, swinging him up onto the glider in one quick and mostly-easy motion. He was heavier than Faro expected, and his uniform was so wet-through with sweat that she had to wipe her hands on her thighs before steering the glider. 

It felt like a long march back to the shuttle. In reality, it was a little less than half a kilometer. The engines were running and the ramp was down by the time Faro reached it, with Wolver jogging ahead so he could steer the glider from the front. Together, they guided the makeshift stretcher up into the troop transport. 

The stormtroopers were milling about, their helmets off and their voices hushed, when Faro came into view. She grimaced, refusing to make eye contact with anyone in particular, and hurried through the passageway. Ahead of her, Wolver hit the door release for the small, private bay usually used for extra cargo. 

“Thank you, Wolver,” she said, voice clipped as she brought the glider to a halt. “You may go. Tell Petty Officer Garrison to bring us up.”

He nodded, casting one last worried glance at Thrawn before he went. Alone with the unconscious Grand Admiral, Faro felt his forehead again, brushing damp strands of hair away from his face. She studied his face for any sign of awareness, then gently opened one of his eyes — a stupid move, she realized at once, because it wasn’t like she could tell if his eyes had rolled up or not. They were glowing dimly, but without any pupils, she couldn’t tell if he was staring up at her or if he was well and truly unconscious.

With a sigh, she closed his eyes again and edged around the glider to the small refresher built into the wall. It was cramped but serviceable, one of two on a shuttle designed for longer missions. She set the shower to cold water rather than sonic and then grabbed a hand-towel from the storage locker, soaking it beneath the spray.

Leaving the shower on, she returned to Thrawn’s side, folding the cold towel over his eyes. 

She should have seen this coming, she told herself with another frown. She’d seen the way he hesitated stepping out of the shuttle, and she’d noticed before that Thrawn seemed peculiarly sensitive to temperature, whether hot or cold. There had been a slight incident once when he’d attended a political party with Governor Pryce somewhere in the Inner Rim, and local press had caught him on camera with his teeth chattering even though he was indoors; the host had seen it as a prime insult, but others in High Command had seen it as a point of weakness. Thrawn himself had only seemed mildly amused at the focus his low body temperature received in the press.

She doubted he’d be amused about _this_ when he woke up. 

She peeled the towel back from his eyes, checking to see if he was still asleep. His face twitched a little, so maybe he was coming out of it, but maybe not. She’d hoped he would wake up at least briefly, so she could check if the next stage of treatment was okay with him — not that he had much choice — but perhaps it was better if he remained asleep.

With an apologetic grimace, Faro pulled his boots and sweat-soaked socks off his feet, tossing both items into the corner. Wiping her hands on her thighs again, she moved up the glider and unbuttoned Thrawn’s collar, pulling the damp material back from his throat. It took her a moment to find the fasteners hidden inside his tunic — it was built differently than her own — but eventually she worked it free and watched the teeth of the sealing strip come apart. 

She rolled Thrawn halfway onto his side to get his arm out of the sleeve and push the tunic back, then did the same on his other side. Beneath the tunic, his undershirt was absolutely soaked with sweat, clinging to the hard planes of his chest and stomach. She hesitated, thinking about how much effort it might take to get him in a sitting position — or to slowly inch the undershirt up while he was still lying down — and decided to leave it until later.

Of course, this put her in the even dicier situation of undoing Thrawn’s belt. She knew it was necessary — the Imperial uniform trousers were made of heavy, uncomfortable material, and even if they weren’t, it was still standard procedure to undress someone suffering from heat exhaustion — but that didn’t help the sense of guilt as she loosed his belt and slid it out of the white loops stitched around his waistband. 

She unbuttoned Thrawn’s trousers as economically as she could, trying not to think about what she was doing. Her knuckles brushed the exposed skin of his lower abdomen as she did so, and just as she started tugging his trousers down over his hips — relieved to see that he was wearing underwear, even if it _was_ practically translucent at the moment — Thrawn stirred, his head lolling to the side. 

Faro froze. She studied his face, seeing hints of discomfort there for the first time since he’d fainted.

“Sir?” she said, working the damp trousers down his thighs with difficulty. She paused, glancing from his face to his hips and the form-fitting black trunks he wore, which definitely weren’t Imperial regulation. She tugged his trousers down a little farther, to his knees, and found the work much easier from there, now that she didn’t have to fight against his dead weight.

She was folding the trousers and stacking them atop his tunic when he groaned. Faro turned around and caught him touching the cold towel over his eyes.

“Sir?” she asked again, coming forward to stop him. “Are you awake?”

He didn’t respond. She saw his lips twitch in something like confusion, so she guided his hand back down to the glider and removed the cloth from his eyes. He blinked up at her, squinting painfully in the light. 

“ _Yubiyesi ma uve,_ ” he muttered, reaching weakly for her hand. Faro watched as his fingers closed around her wrist and tugged her hand — and the wet cloth — back down to his forehead. Only then did she recognize the language he used — Sy Bisti — and belatedly translate the words: _Put it back._

“Can you speak in Basic?” she asked, a sharp stab of anxiety going through her.

Pressing the cold cloth against his closed eyes, Thrawn didn’t respond. His lips didn’t even twitch, as if he hadn’t heard her or didn’t understand her words.

“Sir?” Faro prompted. She touched his chest, trying to get his attention. “Do you know where you are?”

“ _Ukuthathwu_ ,” he said. 

“Shuttle,” Faro translated, for his benefit. She tapped his chest and then slid her hand up to his shoulder, gently urging him forward. “Sit up for me, please. I need to get your undershirt off.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond, but eventually — with more urging from Faro, and a great deal of help — he pushed himself into a sitting position. She peeled the undershirt away from his skin while he leaned against her, his face buried in her shoulder, and then guided his arms over his head, working slowly so he could keep the wet towel over his face. Only when she had the undershirt off did Thrawn move the towel, angling his head up and keeping his eyes closed as he pressed it to his throat instead. 

“I’ve got a shower running,” Faro told him, tossing the undershirt into the corner with Thrawn’s boots. Seeming not to hear her, Thrawn started to sink back down against the glider, as if he couldn’t keep himself up a moment longer. She rushed forward and got her hands beneath his back, forcing him to stay up — but she could feel the weak tension of his muscles beneath her hands, as if he were genuinely trying to keep himself upright and couldn’t manage it.

“Okay,” Faro said between her teeth, straining to keep Thrawn sitting up. “Alright, well … do you think you can stand?”

She walked herself back behind him as she said it, keeping her hands between his shoulder blades until she was positioned at the end of the glider. With her feet planted, she let Thrawn go, so that when he fell, he didn’t hit the hard surface of the glider; instead, he fell backward only an inch or two before his back struck her chest. He turned his head slightly, his hair brushing her chin, and she got a glimpse of exhausted surprise and confusion on his face.

“Sir?” she prompted. 

His grip on the towel loosened; his hand fell slowly until it hit the glider, taking the cold towel with it. Thrawn glanced down, apparently realizing for the first time that he was in his underwear, and then squeezed his eyes closed against a bout of dizziness. “ _Sy Bisti, ngayecali,_ ” he said. _In Sy Bisti, please._

“Nope, no Sy Bisti. We’re speaking Basic,” Faro told him, trying to hide her anxiety behind a brusque tone. She wrapped her arms around him and folded her hands over his stomach, pulling him closer to her for better support. “Either I carry you or you walk to the fresher, sir. Your choice.”

She felt a light touch against her hip and looked down to see him reaching blindly for the edge of the glider. When he found it, he gripped it tightly and pulled away from her, almost overbalancing, and then swung his feet over the edge. Faro kept one hand on his back to support him and found the glider’s controls with the other, lowering it closer to the floor until Thrawn could step down without difficulty.

He kept one hand on her shoulder, walking unsteadily and slowly toward the fresher. Faro wrapped one arm around his waist, stepping in time with him and letting him set the pace — for the most part. The closer they got to the fresher, the more wobbly he got, and when she finally got him through the door he practically collapsed against the wall.

“Come on,” Faro said, shifting her grip until she was holding him up with her hands beneath his arms. She grimaced as her fingers slid uselessly across his skin, unable to get a good grip against the cold sweat **.** “Into the shower stall. Let’s go.”

She put a brisk note of command in her voice and Thrawn seemed to respond to it, his eyes flickering slightly as he found his feet again. Faro realized as she guided him into the shower that she should have at least taken her tunic off — there was no way she could support him without getting wet — but it was too late now. The cold spray of water made her flinch, but seemed to have no effect on Thrawn at all. He sank to the floor inside the shower, letting the icy water come down squarely on his head, and pulled his knees up to his chest for balance. 

After a long moment, with Faro watching from outside the stall, Thrawn tipped his head forward and buried his face in his folded arms. She watched the water trickle down from his hair and over the rest of his body — down his well-built arms and the deep blue planes of his back, soaking into the waistband of his underwear. She kept an eye on the time, biting her lip, and swept her hand through the shower spray every now and then to check the temperature. 

Five minutes had passed before Thrawn lifted his head slightly and covered his eyes with his hand. She could tell he was grimacing from the curve of his lips.

“Sir?” Faro asked.

“...off the lights?” he said in Basic, the first few words weak and inaudible.

“Lights: ten percent,” Faro said. The light in the fresher dimmed significantly, too fast for Faro’s eyes to adjust. She blinked a few times. “Is that alright, sir?”

She could just barely make out the shape of his head as he nodded. 

“Feeling better?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she crouched down to eye-level, studying him through the open door of the shower stall. “Headache?” she guessed.

“Mm,” he said, lips tight. 

“Nausea?” Faro said, eyeing his posture. He didn’t answer right away, apparently gathering his strength.

“Don’t speak,” he said finally, his tone mild — not a command, but a gentle request. Faro nodded and said nothing, but she shifted her position until she was sitting cross-legged on the floor. She didn’t bother to keep track of the time anymore, instead focusing on Thrawn and his shallow, ragged breathing. Minutes passed by in silence before Thrawn sat up and brushed the water out of his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times, blinking straight ahead into the shower spray, not even glancing her way.

“Commodore Faro?” he asked, his voice a bit stronger now. Faro shifted again, moving forward on her knees.

“Right here,” she said, reaching through the shower door. He stilled when she touched his arm and then peered out at her, eyes narrow as he took her in. For a long moment, he only studied her face, saying nothing.

“I passed out,” he said tonelessly, as if testing this statement out to see if it was true.

Faro gave him a sympathetic nod. “You had heat exhaustion, sir,” she said. “Do you remember what happened?”

He reached forward to shut the water off and shook his head.

“You made it all the way back to the shuttle before fainting,” Faro told him. “Once we got into the spare cargo bay, you lost your balance a bit and I helped you in here — that’s when you passed out.”

He squinted at her in the dark, brushing wet hair back from his face. “You’re lying,” he said. “Don’t try to spare me any embarrassment, Commodore. I’d rather know the truth.”

She opened her mouth, planning a weak protest, but he cut her off.

“If you keep lying, I’ll assume something humiliating happened,” he warned her. “I have a grim imagination, Commodore. Don’t let me fill in the blanks.” 

Faro supposed that, if she were in his position, she would assume the same thing. She stepped forward to help him off the ground, giving him a rundown of the whole situation as she dried him off with a towel, starting with his hair. Thrawn stayed quiet as she told the story, leaning heavily against the sink while Faro methodically wiped the excess water from his chest and arms. His skin was still cool to the touch, and she could tell it took him some effort to stay on his feet.

“You want to…?” she asked, gesturing awkwardly to Thrawn’s underwear. He grimaced and she held the towel out between them like a curtain, looking the other way as Thrawn hooked his thumbs into the waistband and forced the underwear down. The wet fabric caught against his skin, and it took everything in Faro not to at least glance his way during the long, silent seconds before he finally took the towel from her and wrapped it around his waist.

“I don’t suppose you brought an extra uniform?” she asked him. She knew _she_ hadn’t, and as she suspected, Thrawn shook his head. “Well, there are seats in the storage bay,” she said. “You can sit there until we dock, that way the troops don’t see you.”

Thrawn gave her a thin smile at that and accepted her help back to the storage bay. He was a little steadier on his feet than he had been just moments ago, but still seemed dizzy and slow. When he reached the row of empty seats along the bulkhead, he collapsed into the nearest one with a soft grunt and adjusted the towel around his waist, not meeting her eyes.

Faro left him for a moment, slipping through the hatch to the troop transport to find her canteen. It was with the rest of her things by her seat; she grabbed everything in sight, including Thrawn’s datapad, and stopped only briefly to tell Lieutenant Wolver, “He’s fine.”

Inside the storage bay, she took a seat right next to Thrawn, handing him the canteen first.

“Small sips, sir,” she told him.

He accepted the canteen with a nod and did as ordered; if he noticed Faro’s eyes trailing down his bare chest to his abs, he didn’t say anything. She waited until he’d taken a few sips and then handed him his datapad, the same way she might reward a small child for eating its vegetables. Thrawn glanced at the datapad but didn’t take it, waving it away.

“How long until we dock with the Chimaera?” he asked.

Faro frowned. “Ninety minutes,” she said. “Maybe a little longer. Why?”

With a deep sigh, Thrawn capped the canteen and handed it back to her. “I think I’m going to sleep,” he said.

From the dark bags under his eyes and the exhaustion weighing his shoulders down, Faro guessed there was an unspoken ‘for an entire week’ at the end of that sentence. She also guessed he had less choice in the matter than he let on; if he tried to read the entire way back to the Chimaera, he’d probably nod off anyway, despite his best efforts. She stowed the canteen with a smile as Thrawn leaned back against the hard shuttle seats, trying to get comfortable.

He’d never manage it, she thought. He’d be better off trying to sleep on the glider. But Thrawn was, above all other things, a soldier, and soldiers could fall asleep anywhere. Within two minutes, he was fast asleep, his arms crossed loosely over his bare chest and his head tilted to the side. Faro watched him for a moment, appreciating the way his face relaxed when he was sleeping, and then turned her datapad on. 

She’d been reading for only five minutes when she felt Thrawn’s head rest against her shoulder. Looking down at him, she couldn’t suppress a smile.

She only hoped his towel didn’t slip.

Well, who was she kidding? She kind of hoped it did.


End file.
